


My Little Angel

by orphan_account



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera - Gaston Leroux
Genre: Broadway, Children, F/M, Family, Musicals, Post-Canon, Theatre
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-07
Updated: 2014-06-07
Packaged: 2018-02-03 17:24:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1752746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A universe in which Love Never Dies doesn't exist and Christine and Raoul have a baby girl.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Little Angel

She came on a clear evening in summer, blue eyes on a black sky, dusted with freckles like little white stars. Her tiny cries pierced an otherwise silent night, earning the howl of a stray dog just outside in response. The midwife determined that both mother and child were healthy, and she wrapped the baby in soft cloth and handed her over to the mother, still lying in the bed and breathing deeply. The mother took the child in her arms and held her to her chest, the father sitting beside her.  
"She's beautiful, Christine," Raoul whispered, head resting gently against his wife and the mother of his child. There was no response, and when Raoul looked to Christine, he saw a small tear streak down her cheek. Raoul wiped it gently away with his thumb, and she looked up at him in surprise. "Is everything alright, darling?"  
"Of...of course, dear, of course..." Christine said softly. She looked down at the little girl in her arms, already fast asleep. "I just...I just never imagined this day would come. Oh, darling, I'm so happy." A tired smile crossed her face, and Raoul gently kissed her. The baby began to fuss, so he left her to her mother. A feeling of incredible peace washed over Raoul in the dim light of the empty corridor, and he expected happy years to come.

They named the girl Constance Marie de Chagny. She had her mother's dark brown curls and her father's cobalt blue eyes, and when she was young she was described by many as "plump with cheeks red as roses." She had a fire in her, according to her parents, as many an afternoon was spent running through the garden or in the park staining her beautiful lace dresses with dirt. "Better watch out for that girl," Raoul would tell Christine with a kiss. "She's got your spirit."  
But the girl was not without her feminine charm. Her mother kept her disciplined in the arts - piano lessons, painting lessons, dancing lessons, and singing lessons were frequent occurrences in their household. The girl would often stand dutifully by the piano as her mother had her practice scales, over and over and over again...  
"She'll never get a husband with a career in theatre," Raoul would tease.  
"I got you, didn't I?" Christine would respond with a smile on a kiss on his cheek.  
Constance was born with her mother's beautiful voice, and both Raoul and Christine knew it by the time she was ten years old. It was strong, it was clear, and pierced the air with a beautiful, angelic quality. And sometimes, though they never thought too carefully of it, when Christine or Raoul heard her singing they would be reminded of their time in the opera house. In the darker evenings when she performed happily for party guests, when they were tired or had just a bit too much to drink, they could almost see her in moments of their past - Christine performing in Hannibal, Christine singing in Don Juan Triumphant, Christine in the hands of the monster of the opera house. It got worse when Constance was older, and started to grow in to a woman almost the spitting image of Christine in her youth. She would be innocently singing at the piano when Christine would burst in to tears and lock herself in the bedroom, and Raoul would come storming down the stairs and throw the sheet music across the room. They loved Constance more than anything in the world, and they loved her voice.  
It was just too hard to hear sometimes.

Constance was fifteen years old when she found the music box in the attic. It was a rainy day with nothing to do, and something called her to the stairs leading to the attic. For the most part it was moth-bitten dresses, a broken mirror, and a few relics left from previous homeowners. But in the corner of the room, just poking out under a table draped with dusty white cloth, something caught Constance's eye - a small music box, topped with the figure of a monkey playing the cymbals. Out of curiosity she turned the key, and was surprised to hear that it still worked.  
"Constance, are you up here -" Raoul came up the stairs, but stopped short when he saw his daughter holding the music box. The music came to a halt. Constance was afraid he'd get angry, but all he did was get quiet. "Where'd you find that?"  
"It was over there," Constance said quietly, gesturing towards the table. "What's wrong?"  
Raoul said nothing. He took the music box from her hand, and set it down on the table. He began to leave, but Constance spoke up. "Father, what aren't you and mother telling me?"  
Raoul stopped, again. Constance saw his shoulders tense up, and was once again worried he would get angry, but when he turned around she saw that his eyes were red and his jaw tight. Normally, being the proper young lady she was raised to be, Constance would have let the conversation go after seeing her father become visibly upset. But she had lived years not knowing, and something in her craved the knowledge of her parent's years past. Raoul put his hands on her shoulders, and spoke low and soft.  
"There are many things you do not know, Constance, many things we have shielded you from all these years," He said. "Young, innocent ears should not hear the tales of our past, but you deserve to know something. When...when your mother was younger and performing at the opera house, there was a man. A man who heard her voice and became obsessed, who...who hurt her in ways no one ever deserves to be hurt. A man who caused both of us unspeakable grief until he disappeared. We've been trying to live in peace for the last several years, and you brought us immeasurable happiness. But sometimes the memories come back, and..."'  
"Father, you don't have to tell me anymore," Constance said, shaking her head. "There are somethings that should be forgotten."  
Raoul embraced his daughter and kissed her on the forehead. "I'm glad you understand," He said. "And I'm sorry this has been so difficult. Try not to think about it, alright?"  
Constance nodded, and Raoul kissed her on the forehead again. "My little angel," He said, and left the attic. Constance let out a deep breath.  
"Angel..." A deep, whispering voice echoed through the attic room. Constance grinned.  
"Angel? Is that you?" She whispered, looking about the room. Suddenly, there was a hand on her shoulder. She whirled around, and grinned. "Angel!"  
"Hello, Constance," A young man was standing before her, dressed all in black save the stark white mask on his face. He smiled softly at her. "You've been practicing, no doubt?"  
"Everyday!" Constance said proudly, and the man smiled more and put both hands on her shoulders.  
"I'm very proud of you, Constance. Someday all the citizens of Paris will be lining up to watch you perform," He said warmly. "Let me see what you've done. Sing for me, darling."  
Constance obliged. Constance always obeyed her Angel, her wonderful Angel, the man who had come to her only four years ago. It was one of the nights when her father had yelled and her mother had cried, and she escaped to the garden to weep quietly. She had been so distraught that she hadn't been concerned when a strange man approached her in the garden and asked her what was the matter. He had spoken so easily and talked so calmly that she poured all her feelings out to him. When he showed support and interest in her singing - something that seemed to only be causing distress for her parents - she was eager to become his student. He said he was her Guardian Angel, and she believed him with all her heart.  
"You're doing wonderfully, Constance," He said, and Constance felt her heart swell with pride.

She would never stop singing for her Angel.


End file.
